Homefront
by Mac-Attack75
Summary: Sheppard's betrayal has instigated a war between two of the worlds largest nations. Fueled by vengeance will the world descend into chaos? And more important, what is the cost of victory? Warning: Language and possibly some graphic violence


This war, like the next war, is a war to end war.

David Lloyd George

* * *

Sitting back in his chair Master Sergeant Steven Colbert was about to take a good long draft of his coffee when he looked up at the screen on the station in front of him. Setting the radio to the appropriate frequency he said "Sand Bravo, were reading 70 bogeys in your sector, please verify."

Punctuated by a chuckle the reply was "Very funny, station. That's a negative, over."

"Sand Bravo, be advised, running diagnostics to scan for malfunction." He informed the operator before checking the system as it covered other regions.

"The skies are clear, station. You got yourself some phantom dots. Over."

Steven didn't acknowledge him, looking at the screen he keyed the radio again, this time he said "Zulu X-ray 6. Signs in your sector of some 100 bogeys, please advise."

"Negatory station, scope is clear. I dunno what to tell ya, Solar interference? Heavy sunspot activity today." The tone of the Vandenberg operator made it clear that he hoped he had found the right answer to their problems and leave it at that.

Something was wrong, but as to what he had absolutely no clue. Keying the radio a third time he said "Sierra Delta, uh… we may have a minor ACS fault here. Do you have anything on your scope?"

His reply was in stark contrast to the quite interior of the NORAD facility that he himself was sitting in "They're everywhere!" Came the panicking voice.

Leaning forward almost to the point of falling out of his chair he called "Sierra Delta, repeat!"

"I'm lookin' at fighter jets over I-95! How did the hell did they get through?"

"Standby! attempting to contact the nearest unit in that sector." He said as he started flipping switches all over the board like crazy.

"I read you, this is First Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, Sergeant Foley, acting commander of Hunter two-one. Do you copy over?"

He watched as the lines and animations representing the satellites he was responsible for overhead slowly blinked out, first one or two then all of them in a torrent. "All stations be advised, satellite surveillance has been disabled. SOSUS and Pave Paws arrays are inoperative at this time."

Leaning back in his seat he drew his hand across the top of his head, wide eyed he looked at the now useless screen as he came to terms with the realization, that America was under attack.

# # #

Jack Kearney gave an exhausted sigh as he leant forward onto his desk, kneading the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Distracted by his own thoughts, he didn't notice one of his aides slip in and quietly placed a folder onto the desk.

After a few minutes with absolutely no response beside some agitated grumblings the aide cleared his throat, and said "Mr. President. Are you alright?"

Looking up from his desk, he caught sight of the folder before he turned to the source of the noise. Flashing an exhausted and weak imitation of the smile that had helped win him the election he said sarcastically "Well let's see now. The U.S. has been implicated in the massacre of over a hundred Russian civilians; said Russian's are calling for American blood, and as President they want me up on the chopping block first. Oh yeah, and to top it off. I missed Jenny's school play and now she won't talk to me."

The aide grimaced; working with the president for the last couple of years he knew that these outbursts were few and far between, and that he was probably finished. Before he could say anything however Jack mumbled apologetically "Sorry about that Dan."

The aide gave a small smile, and tried to formulate his reply as he looked at the man whose hair was graying prematurely he said "Sir, I can't help you with Jenny. But the good news is that diplomatic talks with the Russian's are still ongoing. Hopefully, we can salvage the situation with them."

Kearney smiled, over the last few years the young mans idealism had been almost inspiring. He was about to say something when one of the secret service agents burst through the door, making his way around the desk he was starting to drag Jack out of his seat as he blurted out "I apologize Mr. President, but we have a situation. We need to get out of here now."

For the first time Dan noticed the barely audible droning buzzing noise that sounded like it was coming from overhead. As another agent came in and started to between them drag the president out of the oval office Dan followed closely behind the group. Making their way down a hallway he caught a glimpse of the outside world that made him stop cold.

The world was quickly descending into hell; planes overhead, and people falling from the sky. Not counting the vehicles he could see resting on platforms drifting to the ground on their own chutes. "Sweet Jesus." He breathed; his face went pale as he thought of his girlfriend still out there, somewhere in the city.

Someone shoved him in the back as they scrambled past, breaking his concentration. He started running trying to catch up to the block of secret service agents encasing the president.

# # #

Private Anatoly Kurakin was staring at the ground intently, searching for a suitable place to land. A backyard devoid of trees would do nicely. From day one of training it was slammed into his head that it would be a death sentence to stay in one place too long. And getting caught in a tree or on a telephone pole would just be outright tempting fate.

He was one of the last men out of his plane and he could already see that the men already on the ground were busy. That was until a sudden explosion from some small fuel source in the backyard he had been aiming for that suddenly flared up. "Govno" he breathed as he tried to change his course. It was too late, his feet landing he tried to reign in the chute before he slipped out of the harness.

The parachute carried by the wind, started drifting toward the fire and almost as soon as it touched the silk chute burst into flame. Leaving it behind he hefted his rifle he opened the gate and slipped into the alley between the houses. In his mind he went down the checklist of objectives; first, link up with the rest of his unit. Second, take the Whitehouse.

# # #

"Hey, watch it." Someone growled.

'Sorry' Havoc mumbled, silently he ground his teeth and cursed the impolite man. Days like today were the kind that made him really wish he was back in the corp. But unfortunately after a bullet shattered his knee a medical review board had deemed him unable to continue in front line duties. And now, 5 years and an medical discharge later, here he was. A sergeant in the NYPD doing foot patrol, serving and protecting the seemingly most arrogant, self serving, ungrateful and rudest people on the planet.

"Help, somebody help!" The cry was quickly followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

Instinctively he turned on the spot and started charging as fast as he could through the crowd. Whatever had happened had shocked everyone into non-action as he was having absolutely no luck getting through to them. His partner wasn't having any luck either.

"Move aside! I said move!" As they started shoving people out of the way, after a few moments they finally reached the source of the noise. There was a small semicircle of empty space surrounding her. Looking at the large pool of blood that she was lying in he didn't even bother checking her vitals, if she wasn't already dead she was definitely a goner.

Lifting his head to search the crowd he keyed his radio, and was halfway through reporting the incident when he noticed it. For half a second he was totally eclipsed in shadow, confused he looked up at the sky and saw the planes. Over the noise of the traffic on the street in front of him he wouldn't have even noticed the planes. His dark face grew paler as he saw the parachutes deploying in the wakes of the planes. This is not good, he thought.

# # #

Warrant Officer Michael "Patches" O'Flaherty gently pulled the nose up as he came nearer to the ground, causing the UH-60 to flare up as it bled off a little bit more air speed. The wheels hadn't even hit the ground before the soldiers on board were scrambling off.

As soon as they were clear he applied some power, and the Blackhawk started to rise back into the air. He watched as he grew level with the Washington Monument, before turning to the south to take on more troops. As the helicopter flew his two gunners were having a blast in the back, blowing away every paratrooper that floated by, calling out the score to each other as they made another kill.

His mind was in a frenzy, his thoughts a blur. Years of drilling and training had him constantly monitoring every dial, gauge and sensor that the helicopter had. All while trying to sift through the cacophony of information screaming at him from his radio headpiece, trying to find only the information pertinent to him.

Looking below he saw that the world was descending into chaos, a pair of apartment buildings in blazing ruins where one of the transports from overhead had come crashing down like a comet; the sky above him was little better. A few moments later he was shaken from this reverie as his co-pilot lightly punched him in the shoulder. "Hey, Mike! Snap out of it man! You alright" He asked with genuine concern, looking at him to see if he had been hit by stray shrapnel somehow.

Seeing the look on his friends face he shook his head as he said "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."

As they started their descent towards the airfield below he saw another group of soldiers already waiting for him to pick them up. Off in the distance he saw a convoy of armored vehicles rumbling through the front gate and heading towards the bridges leading into D.C.

# # #

Sitting in the back of the UH-60 Pfc. Jose Alvarez listened intently to his radio, the attack had been so suddenly that they had had to scramble into transports before they even knew who it was falling from the sky. And now his squad was getting their orders.

"Overlord, please confirm. You expect us to do all of that on our own?" Sergeant Gallagher asked incredulously.

"Affirmative, Delta 3-1. You are to secure the college campus as an evacuation point." Came the voice, there was an undercurrent of stress in the voice that was unsettling to everyone who listened. The voice was usually so calm and collected.

Gallagher unconsciously put his hand up to the side of his helmet, hoping to hear a better answer as he said "And when can we expect reinforcements or fire support?"

"All air support is currently engaged. Additional ground support is en route to your location at this time. E.T.A. is eighteen minutes."

Corporal Mendoza asked "Sarge, did HQ just bone us?"

"Pretty damn much, corporal." He said, with an annoyed grunt.

A few seconds later the focus of the sergeant's eyes shifted, looking like he was focusing on something not there. He signaled to the rest of the squad that they had a minute. Everyone unconsciously shifted the weight on their heels, testing that everything felt right. Safety's off, grenades close at hand and clips loaded, just like they had been drilled.

As soon as he hit the ground Alvarez streaked towards the first bit of cover he could find, hot on the heels of his buddy, Specialist Colt Mitchell. Crouching down as they hit the wall they looked around, making sure that there weren't any paratroopers waiting for them. As the helo lifted off the squad formed up and started to make their way down the street.

# # #

"We're sorry; all lines are busy at the moment. Please hang up and try your call again later." Came the cool automated female voice over the phone.

'Shit' Ghost breathed, before turning to the room at large and saying "I can't get anyone on the horn."

"The Russians must have copied the ACS module. Got the key to every lock in America." MacTavish said deadpan.

Ghost replied, "And they're killing a thousand Americans for every dead civilian in Moscow. Looks like we're all outta friends."

"I know a guy. Let's find a payphone." He said, but quickly added "They still exist?" in an almost joking tone.

Ghost shrugged as he looked at Soap, wondering what good they could do right now. "All we got outta Rojas is that the only guy Makarov hates worse than Americans is locked up in a gulag."

"It's all we got. If this con's the bait to catch that psychopath, let's hang him from a tree." A small, almost crazed smile curled the corners of MacTavish's lips.

Authors Note: Hey everybody, this is my first attempt at a War Fic. So please read and review, if it is awful say so. But don't just say a part of it is terrible without telling me what is wrong (especially on little details like caliber and stuff.) If I get any terminology wrong, and technical stuff wrong or if I just outright write something that wouldn't actually happen let me know. I am something of a devotee of Peptuc and his Tiberium Wars story and a handful of other stories, and I am trying to replicate the success he has had writing for the Command and Conquer universe for the Call of Duty universe. I'm also trying to provide something I haven't personally been able to find, a serious MW story chronichaling the war between the U.S. and Russia. (I can only hope that MW3 doesn't take its time in coming).

I also consider this to be a labor of love for armed forces personal active and retired the world over. I was actually going to use a portion of the song 'Here's to the Heroes.' But I couldn't decide on which section, and it would have been too large to use it all. Plus I'm going to keep myself to a one quote maximum at the beginning of a chapter.

Thanks, Mac-Attack.

P.S.-And I can't stress this enough, I can only write a better story if I have constructive critiscism and feedback. So READ AND REVIEW!


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